As I sit inhaling Werther’s Caramel Coffee hard candies…triple happiness followed by multitudes of joy…my mind wanders and begins to explore the awkward as hell meeting of two overly powerful men soon to occur at the G 8 Summit.

Scooter B. and Vladimir - A Waking Dream based exploration inspired by too much sugar…

Scooter B. glanced anxiously out the window of the car as the driver worked steadily toward the summit site.

Would it be tense, he wondered…or worst yet awkward? Would he and the President of Russia have anything left to say to each other?

He sighed and tried to recall the profound trust and deep emotion he felt the last time he looked into Vladimir’s eyes.

What went wrong?

Scooter B. cleared his throat, attempted to focus and began to review his notes.

“George?”

He turned his gaze to Condi.

“Well, ummm…did you want to go over the agenda?” she asked.

George turned away and again looked out the window.

“I never should have listened to you about that stupid missile shield.” He said softly. “Jesus to Gawd, woman! You’re supposed to be an expert in Russian what nots and do nots. How the fuck did you fail to anticipate this shit pissing them off? Now I might not get my missile shield, we may have talked our way into another Cold War and Vladimir won’t return my phone calls.”

Condi cringed at the whine in Scooter’s voice. This is going to be one long ass summit, she thought bitterly as the car pulled to a stop and they exited.

Condi and Scooter B. entered the summit room to find it empty.

Hurrying back through the door Condi tossed out “I’ll just run and see where everyone is!”

Scooter B. walked to the window only to turn at the sound of measured foot steps on deep carpet.

“Vladimir?” he whispered.

“George.” Vladimir replied sharply.

“Oh Vladimir! My dear Volodya ! I have missed you so.” George said and rushed forward a few steps.

“Don’t.” replied Vladimir. “Just don’t go there you stupid fool!”

“What?”

“You dare to ask me what? Our nations are on the brink of kicking off another Cold War because of your mouth and you’re asking me what?”

“Look, the missile shield was Cheney’s idea. I never even read the memo!” Scooter B. pleaded.

“Right. And all that shit you’ve said about rolling back democratic reforms. Oh, please! You had to know that shit was going to require a response from me.” Vladimir rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

“Shut up, ass!” Vladimir snapped. “You’re lucky this whole mess may work out in my favor. With any luck you have talked me into being appointed President for life! How’s that for democratic reform? Asshole!” Laughing, Vladimir stalked away leaving Scooter B. alone and distraught in the conference room.

Fade to black as Condi enters carrying a box of Kleenex and softly humming Laura’s Theme from Dr. Zhivago…

6 comments:

Leota2
said...

Amazing, isn't it?

W--with a few words can start the damnedcold war up again. . . .

Can we get a couple of doctors (you know-the ones who probably diagnosed his mother as a sociopath?) to get his ass committed before he somehow reinstates slavery, resends women's voting rights and finally makes Condi truly have a moment of clarity.